


Unachievable

by Almost_Convinced_I_Am_Real



Category: Daft Punk
Genre: Bittersweet Ending, Drama, Friendship, Gen, Hopeful Ending, Human Daft Punk, M/M, Mild Blood, Supernatural Elements, Tragedy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-04-16
Updated: 2017-04-16
Packaged: 2018-10-19 20:00:33
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,977
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10647021
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Almost_Convinced_I_Am_Real/pseuds/Almost_Convinced_I_Am_Real
Summary: Thomas, still tipsy, teeters dangerously close to the busy road. Guy-Man swiftly yanks him back to safety. Thomas’ attention snaps to Guy-Man. He carefully cups Guy-Man’s face, fingers gently prodding his neck. His eyes glaze over for a moment. When he parts his lips again, it’s to release a wave of uncontrolled giggling. He pulls Guy-Man into a tight hug, cackling into his hair. Guy-Man laughs as well. Soon, it’ll be done. In less than nine minutes this day will finally and forever be over.Maybe a bit slashy, if you squint really hard while standing on your head.





	Unachievable

There is a mere 5 centimeter distance between the wall and his nose when he wakes up. His pillow has escaped to the side, only a single corner actually supporting his head. The covers have also more or less slid off both him and the bed, most of it hanging over the mattress’s edge. Still he feels uncomfortable warm. He sighs. Heat is the last thing he wants right now, he thinks as he stretches, a low groan slipping past his lips. A dull ache in his neck tells him he’s been lying at an odd angle for most, possibly all, of the night. What else is new.

Twisting around, he glances at the clock: 08:17. Time to get up – Thomas will be here in 12 minutes. Not willing to lose a single second, he pulls on the first garments he finds, which happen to be a pair of already worn jeans and a dark T-shirt, before darting into the bathroom. Ice cold water jet out of the faucet in an irregular manner. He glances up at his own reflection as he waits for the stream to even out, and is met by a pretty ghastly sight: pallid complexion contrasted by dark circles beneath red eyes. He leans in closer. It’s not… _very_ noticeable, is it? It’s not the worst, right? No, no the worst was definitely after the second time it happened. He was a complete fucking wreck then. After that, he’s slowly become numb to the whole ordeal. Not enough to give up, of course, but at least now he won’t go crazy when it happens again.

Again.

He bends over the sink to splash his face, erasing all the signs from the latest night. There won’t be another “again”. He’ll make sure of that. Today he’ll be prepared for _everything_.

The coffee – some shit that tastes awful but, hey, at least it helps wake him up – takes 2 minutes to brew, which then leaves him with 4 minutes of doing… nothing. He should probably eat, but he has no appetite whatsoever. So he waits, slowly sipping the black sludge while staring at the clock. The hands crawl forward, to 08:27, 08:28, 08:29… When it almost makes it to 08:30 without anything happening, his heart speed up with paranoia. What if-

A knock on the door. He flies out of his chair towards the front door, just about ripping it open. Thomas greets him with a bright grin that encompasses his entire face.

“Good morning!”

Guy-Man swallows a sigh of relief and nonchalantly slumps against the door post.

“Morning,” he says, his voice a lot hoarser than he expected it to be.

Thomas’ smile fades. With his head tilting slightly to the side he studies Guy-Man closely, a thin crease between his eyes.

“You don’t look so hot,” he says. Guy-Man shrugs casually before turning and going back to the kitchen, Thomas following closely behind. “Rough night, or…?”

“Something like that,” Guy-Man grunts.

“Maybe you don’t want to-”

“No, I’m fine.”

He turns around to send Thomas the closest he can get to an authentic smile. Fortunately, it’s enough. Thomas lights up again, going off about a new club that opened a few nights before and which is supposed to be inconceivably great.

“I’m sure you’ll love it!”

Guy-Man snorts and pushes his hair out of his eyes. He didn’t bother with it earlier, due to the lack of time, only quickly combing through it with his fingers so he’d lock somewhat presentable.

“I’m sure I won’t,” he says with excessive dryness. “Did you come here just to tell me that?”

Thomas chuckles and shakes his head: he needed milk and batteries, and probably something else too, and decided to check if Guy-Man was awake while he was out. He asks if Guy-Man wants to tag along, which he does. Oh, does he ever.

_(They say a human who’s been stabbed can bleed out in less than 30 seconds.)_

The next few hours he spends glued to Thomas’ side, hiding a constant, fretful watchfulness behind a mask of bored nonchalance. Every place they go is treated with a thorough analysis of its interior, its occupants, its everything. Objects he’d never thought of before he now takes extremely careful note of. He’s somewhat distant as a result, missing out on large chunks of conversation, among other things. He blames a lack of sleep when Thomas asks what’s gotten over him.

It’s shortly after noon that Guy-Man suggests they head back to Thomas’ place and work, since they don’t really have anything else to do anyway. Luckily, Thomas agrees. It’s a huge relief to enter Thomas’ home. Not only is it a confined space, but Guy-Man basically knows the place like the back of his own hand and doesn’t have to be nearly as alert as outside. Moreover, it’s just nice to spend time like this, doing something they love with no one else around. For a short moment, he actually manages to forget later tonight.

Hours later, after the sun has set, they make themselves ready to leave. Guy-Man, in an attempt to cause even the slightest bit of delay, mentions going back to his apartment so he can change clothes. Thomas tosses him one of his own button-downs to wear instead. So much for that. He does however manage to stall them a little by stopping to buy a bottle of water on the way.

Four blocks away from the club, Thomas begins steering towards an alleyway that’ll lead them to a shortcut. Guy-Man dives after to grab his wrist, jerking him into a halt.

“Let’s not go that way.”

Thomas raises a partially amused, partially baffled brow. “Why not? It’s faster.”

“Yeah, but…” Guy-Man trails off with a shrug, then makes a bullshit excuse about wanting to be out in the fresh air for as long as possible. Thomas gives him a several seconds-long stare before answering.

“Okay… I mean, that’s fine…”

It looks like he wants to say something more. Guy-Man turns his back on him, taking the longer route, before he has the chance. When Thomas catches up with him, which doesn’t take much time, he refrains from voicing whatever was on his mind.

_(They say a fall from a two story building is enough to break a human neck.)_

The club itself is pretty standard, or it would have been. The sight of it brings forth a thick, pungent sensation in his nose, so strong his eyes begin to water. He wipes them dry as inconspicuously as he can, whilst drawing a deep breath. Don’t think about it. It’s pointless, nothing can be done about it. Focus on the now. The only thing one can make an impact on is the now.

The inside of the club is even more typical than the outside: dark, hot, and very, very loud. Normally he wouldn’t have minded, he wouldn’t have minded at all, but tonight it’s his worst nightmare come to life. If he kept a short distance between himself and Thomas earlier that day, now they’re more or less stitched together. Thomas drinks and talks a lot; Guy-Man does neither. He can’t let anything cloud his senses or sidetrack him. There are too many things that can go wrong.

One guy they end up talking to mentions with slurred words how he heard about a way one can get up on the club’s roof, and how it’s possible to jump to the adjacent buildings. The last part is pure idiocy. Anyone who took the time to simply stop and look at the arrangement of the club and the nearby structures can tell jumping from one to the other is totally impossible. Before the guy reveals exactly how you get on the roof, Guy-Man has dragged Thomas away from the conversation with the lie that he’s seen a friend of theirs in the crowd. On their way to the non-existent friend, Guy-Man instead spots a local dealer up ahead, in the process of exchanging a small baggie for some bills. That’s the last thing they need. Guy-Man instantly halts and spins around; Thomas almost crashes into him.

“I was wrong, it’s not him,” he explains right as the music changes. It’s probably something recent, because he’s never heard it before. It doesn’t sound great, but the beat is decent enough. He suggests they dance.

And so it continues for the remainder of the night, Guy-Man following Thomas like a shadow, never letting him out of sight and only speaking up to distract him from various endeavors, while still succeeding in keeping Thomas blissfully unaware. The few times he does take his eyes of his friend is to check his wristwatch. Some give him weird looks, but it doesn’t matter. _They_ don’t matter.

The time crawls closer to 00:00. A heavy lump that’s been slowly forming over the past half-hour settles in the pit of Guy-Man’s stomach. He really hopes his calculations are correct, that he won’t be too late. The easiest thing would be to simply grab Thomas and haul him out of the club, but that wouldn’t be right. He doesn’t think he could live with the knowledge that he could have done something. At 23:39 he mumbles a generic excuse in Thomas’ ear, saying he’ll be back soon. Thomas, somewhat inebriated and only halfheartedly listening, nods before bursting out laughing over something someone else said.

Guy-Man weaves his way through the crowd, loosening the cap of the water bottle. Being apart from Thomas makes him more anxious than he’d ever admit, and he needs to solve this quickly. He halts at the spot he thinks is the right one, standing tense and waiting for it to happen. Enough minutes pass for him to think that maybe, _maybe,_ it was a one-time thing, that it won’t happen after all. Then someone screams, a short gasping shriek that’s barely audible amidst the music. Guy-Man whirls around, finding an angry, yellow flame rising from something, he doesn’t care what, on the floor. There’s a few panicked yells, a call of _‘Fire!’_ , but it dies down as Guy-Man empties more than half the water on the aspiring disaster, then snatches an oversized jacket hanging around a nearby woman’s shoulders to throw on the ground and suffocate the flame, for good measure.

Someone laughs. Another utters a high-pitched ‘Thank god!’. A third wonders just how the hell the fire started in the first place. Guy-Man only stays long enough to make sure it’s definitely dead. When he returns to Thomas he gives him the water still in the bottle, to dilute the alcohol.

Thomas downs the liquid in a single swig, then gives Guy-Man a lingering, contemplative look.

“You still don’t look so good,” he says, head cocked to the side.

Guy-Man shrugs. “Well, I’m tired.”

Thomas nods slowly. “You want to get out of here?”

Guy-Man hesitates. He _does_ , but… does he really? The club is stifling, overwhelming. Too full of everything. Outside seems like it would be better. Like it would be easier to think.

“Yeah, I do.”

_(They say a human can die of smoke inhalation in less than 10 minutes.)_

The night air is something of a shock after the sweaty atmosphere indoors. Thomas, still tipsy, teeters dangerously close to the busy road. Guy-Man swiftly yanks him back to safety.

“Don’t get hit by a truck now,” he mutters, checking his watch. 23:51. Nine minutes left.

Thomas hums in agreement, gaze turned skywards. He leans backwards, attempting to make out what few stars can be seen, so much he appears to be falling over. Guy-Man takes hold of the lapels of his jacket, just in case. Thomas’ attention snaps back to Guy-Man. He carefully cups Guy-Man’s face, fingers gently prodding his neck.

“Hey, y’know something?” he asks, the question barely more than a mellow breath. For the first time in the entire day, in several days even, Guy-Man cracks a genuine smile. He shakes his head.

“No, what?”

Thomas blinks dazedly, lightly swaying back and forth. His eyes glaze over for a moment. When he parts his lips again, it’s to release a wave of uncontrolled giggling. He pulls Guy-Man into a tight hug, cackling into his hair. Guy-Man laughs as well. Soon, it’ll be done. In less than nine minutes this day will finally and forever be over.

“Let’s get you home so you can sleep this off,” he says, starting to move. Thomas, still snickering, allows himself to be lead away.

“Yeah, yeah, yeah…”

He drapes an arm around Guy-Man’s shoulders, half-leaning on him as they make their way down the street. Guy-Man breathes deeply but evenly. He brings up a hand to rub his eyes, shutting them both. The next thing he knows, he’s lying on the ground after having been shoved to the side. It leaves him completely disoriented, with no idea of what just happened. Before he figures out what’s going on, before he sees, he hears. He hears the loud thump. The cracking of bones. The screeching car brakes. He misses the incident itself, but is on the first row for the aftermath.

A human will be thrust 2 meters into the air when hit by a car.

Thomas lands with a crunch.

Guy-Man stays in place for he doesn’t know how long. The people in the car stagger out. Other cars stop. Humans appear from everywhere to see what the commotion is about. Guy-Man trembles as he rises, as he stumbles up to Thomas.

No.

The body looks broken, the head is at an angle.

No!

A dark, dense fluid is pooling beneath Thomas’ head, slowly dying his short curls red.

He was so close! He shut his eyes for a second, let his guard down for _a single second!_

Guy-Man falls to his knees next to Thomas, delicately clutching Thomas’ cheeks, turning the head so they face each other. The cheeks are frozen against his palms. His fingers touch a warm, sticky spot near the neck.

Guy-Man can’t breathe. Something is stuck in his throat. Small, hot beads silently drip into Thomas’ open eyes. An eternity passes before Guy-Man manages to heave a breath, and when he exhales, he does so with a scream.

Crumbling, he continues to scream into Thomas’ chest, buries his face in the dirtied shirt. When the screaming settles, he starts sobbing instead, so much that he shakes. Bundling his fists into Thomas’ clothes, he refuses to move, not that anyone tries to make him. Not until the ambulance arrives at least. Then they have to tear him off, him trashing about in a frenzy, his grip on the shirt nearly ripping it. He ends up on the ground far away from Thomas, held in place by three civilians. One of them, a fat middle-aged woman, wraps her arms around him and rocks him back and forth while tearfully whispering how everything will be fine, which is a fucking lie, because can’t she see? Can’t she see what’s happened? He failed! He failed again!

Again.

“Again!” he gasps out, the words almost drowned out by the crying. “Let me try again, please, please, _please_ -”

There are traces of something wet and salty on his cheeks when he wakes up. The whole bed is in chaos, the covers in a tangled mess that doesn’t actually _cover_ him at all. He shoots into a sitting position so fast his vision goes black. The clock shows 8:17. He must hurry, he’s only got 12 minutes. His stomach is in turmoil as he dresses – he barely has time to put on his jeans before he has to sprint into the bathroom and vomit in the sink. Bile and nothing else that’s easily washed down as soon as the fucking faucet decides to produce a proper stream. He rinses out numerous times, then aggressively splashes his face, large amounts of water ending up on the floor. He takes a look at himself in the mirror. Awful, like a… diseased person. Puffy eyed and white as a sheet, with a hint of green beneath the sallowness. He splashes himself some more. Then, a knock on the front door.

Thomas greets him with a bright grin that immediately transforms into a slack jaw.

“Are you all right?” he asks.

Guy-Man nods, needing to hold onto the door frame for support. “Yeah, I’m fine-”

“No, you’re not! Look at you!”

He presses a hand to Guy-Man’s forehead, then proceeds to usher him into the kitchen. Guy-Man sinks down onto a chair while Thomas flies around the kitchen, handing him water, painkillers and something to eat, as well as preparing some tea for both of them.

“I _am_ fine,” Guy-Man says when Thomas shoves a smoldering mug into his hands. “I’ve just had a rough night.”

Thomas frowns at that.

“Really? What have you done that caused…” He gestures towards Guy-Man. “ _This?_ ”

“That’s unimportant,” Guy-Man says, taking a large gulp of tea. He does in fact feel a lot better now, after having seen Thomas once more. It probably shows on him, because Thomas relaxes ever so slightly. Guy-Man puts one elbow on the kitchen table so he can rest his head on the palm of his hand. “By the way, did you only come here to fuss over me?”

Thomas snickers, bringing up a hand to scratch his neck.

“No… I’m out to buy milk, and some other stuff. I thought since I was passing by… Oh, and I came to tell you about this new club! From what I’ve heard it’s amazing, and I thought we could check it out. I’m sure you’ll love it!”

A smile forces its way onto Guy-Man’s face. A chuckle claws its way from his throat.

“I’m sure I won’t,” he says softly.


End file.
